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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337598">The Good Jack</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Cycle of Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Incest, Object Insertion, Orgasm Delay/Denial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:00:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's your choice, then," he said. "I can take what I want from you, and you don't even need to bother pretending to get off. Maybe I'll like it better if you don't. Or you can have your sweet fantasy of gentle Jack, and tell yourself afterwards that you shouldn't feel ashamed because I made you do it. Though I really think..." He leaned closer until his lips were almost on hers, and she could smell her lemonade on his breath. "I really think the shame is part of what's going to make this so good."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stepson/Stepmother</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous, We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Good Jack</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts">flowersforgraves</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Doris's stomach clenched when she heard Johnny's truck crunching up the dirt road. She put down the pan she'd been washing and rinsed and dried her hands. She did her best to gather her wits. <em>Jack's dead,</em> she told herself. <em>Dead and in the ground. Johnny only ever followed his lead. Maybe on his own, he'll be...</em></p><p>She swallowed, feeling like she was choking on the lies she was telling herself. <em>Maybe he'll be nice.</em></p><p>The truck door slammed. Doris went and stood behind the screen door, watching, too chickenshit to step out into the afternoon sun and be seen.</p><p>Johnny came around the truck looking handsome and put-together as always in jeans and a nice blue button-up shirt. He was a little shorter than Jack, and a little better-looking, if she was going to be honest with herself. His tanned skin hadn't been turned soft and ruddy by decades of drinking. His farmer's muscles were honestly gotten, but his clothes and hands were clean, his face was shaved, and his hair was neatly trimmed—he'd gotten a haircut for the funeral, she guessed, but the rest was for coming to see her. Doris felt an uncomfortable flutter in her belly, like she'd felt the first time she saw Jack back in the day, and she was glad the shadows hid her red face.</p><p>Johnny walked up to the door and smiled at her through the screen. "Should I knock?" he said. "Hello, ma'am, I'm here to tell you all about this exciting new type of fertilizer—"</p><p>She laughed and opened the door like she wanted him in the house. "Come in," she said. "You want lemonade?"</p><p>"Sure do," he said, wiping his boots.</p><p>Doris hoped he'd go sit in the living room, but he followed her into the kitchen and pulled a chair out from the breakfast table. She poured lemonade into two of the three remaining nice glasses and sat down opposite him. "Well," she said. "What's the occasion?"</p><p>He gave her a steady look over the rim of his glass. "I came to comfort my father's widow," he said.</p><p>"Is that right?" Her voice trembled, but she was too weary to be coy. "I don't feel much of a loss. I don't expect you do either."</p><p>"Just because you're not grieving," he said, "doesn't mean I can't comfort you." He put the glass down and shocked her utterly by cupping her cheek with one cool, condensation-damp hand. "The traditional way."</p><p>"Johnny," she gasped, batting his hand away—but she was too slow, and she knew it and he knew it. "No, you can't."</p><p>"I can't? Why not?" His callouses were rough as he stroked his fingertips down her soft throat. "Didn't I inherit my share of my father's worldly goods?"</p><p>"I'm not a... an <em>object</em>, like a TV or a—Johnny, please!" He was plucking at the top button on her worn-thin flannel shirt. She pushed her chair back from the table and leapt to her feet, wanting to run. But she knew from long experience there was nowhere to run to, and she stood there, frozen, as he rose leisurely from his own seat and walked toward her.</p><p>"Daddy used to tell me all about fucking you," he said conversationally.</p><p>Doris gasped, revolted. "That's nothing a young boy should hear!"</p><p>"I wasn't all that young. Maybe twelve, thirteen? A few years after you two got married. He thought I should know the way of the world."</p><p>She backed away as he came closer; he followed her through the doorway and into the living room, trapping her against the sofa. <em>If he's going to do this to me, let him do it here,</em> she thought. <em>Not the kitchen. The kitchen's mine.</em></p><p>"The way of the world," Johnny continued, "as old Dad used to tell it, is that a woman is a treasure box, and a man plunders her. Your treasure's mine now, Doris, as surely as if it were in a pirate's chest buried in the yard." </p><p>"Johnny," she said, mustering a smile as though she could think he was joking, "how many times have I asked you to call me Mom?"</p><p>He leaned toward her. "If you were my mom," he said, "you wouldn't have looked at me like a woman looks at a man, ever since I was old enough to be worth looking at. You thought I didn't notice, but I did. Tell me you don't want this."</p><p>"I don't want it," she said, surprising herself with the strength of her voice. It was true, and it was a lie. "You're practically my son."</p><p>"No blood between us," he said.</p><p>"As if that's all that matters," she said. "We're family, it's not right!"</p><p>"Oh, it's not right," he agreed. "Don't that make you want it more?"</p><p>She sucked in a breath and looked away. "No," she said, but her voice caught in her throat.</p><p>"Mmhmm." He grabbed her chin and turned her face back toward him. She pinched her lips together to hold back a scream. "I don't believe you even a little."</p><p>"You don't understand," she whispered, staring into his wide brown eyes. "You look so much like him. It... makes me miss the days when I thought things could be good between us. I can't help but yearn for that. But I <em>don't</em> want this, Johnny, not with you. I want a Jack I never had. A good Jack, a kind Jack."</p><p>"I can give you that," Johnny said, his deep voice rumbling. "Unlock your treasure box nice and gentle. You ever been touched gently, Doris?"</p><p>She shook her head a little, still trapped by the pinch of his thumb and finger on her chin.</p><p>"A damn shame." His other hand came up to cup her breast through her shirt, his thumb running along the edge of her bra. She shied away, but he didn't squeeze her roughly the way Jack would have, only rubbed his palm slowly over her nipple in a way that made her knees tremble. "You're still so juicy. Let me touch you the way you should have been touched all this time."</p><p>"Johnny..." She wanted it to sound like <em>no</em> but it came out sounding like <em>yes</em>.</p><p>"Or." He released her chin and slid his hand down to her throat. She cried out and her hands flew up to pull on his arm, but it was like pulling on an iron bar. "Or I can do this old Jack's way," he said. "You sure you don't miss that?"</p><p>"No, please—"</p><p>"He thought you liked it under all your protesting. Said you never came harder than when he hit you."</p><p>Doris let her revulsion show in her face. "He should never, ever have said those things to you," she choked out. "And what did he know? I faked it every time." God, it felt good to say it out loud, even if Johnny was the last person she should be saying it to.</p><p>He looked surprised, then laughed. "That's your choice, then," he said. "I can take what I want from you, and you don't even need to bother pretending to get off. Maybe I'll like it better if you don't. Or you can have your sweet fantasy of gentle Jack, and tell yourself afterwards that you shouldn't feel ashamed because I made you do it. Though I really think..." He leaned closer until his lips were almost on hers, and she could smell her lemonade on his breath. "I really think the shame is part of what's going to make this so good."</p><p>"Oh, God," she moaned. "Don't make me do this, please!"</p><p>"Your choice, Doris." His palm was still rubbing her nipple even as his other hand gripped her throat. She felt dizzy. "The easy way or the hard way."</p><p>"The... the easy way." She closed her eyes, hating herself even more than she hated him. She was such a coward. "Please."</p><p>"There we go." He let go of her throat and she heaved in air. Before she could catch her breath, he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly. He tasted of lemons and tobacco, and his lips were soft and sweet. A traitorous shiver of desire went through her, and when he slid his hand into her long loose hair, she gave in and kissed him back, opening her mouth to receive his tongue like a blessing. He dipped in and out, deliberately lapping at her as though he was kissing her between her legs, and the thought of it made her groan. </p><p>He let go of her breast and snaked his other hand around to the small of her back, pulling her body close to his and letting her feel his hard-on through his jeans. "That's all for you," he murmured against her mouth. "But I aim to get you good and wet first." His palm slid over her ass, squeezing gently without a hint of his earlier roughness. "You're going to be screaming my name."</p><p>"Jack," she whispered, and then she froze.</p><p>"Sure," he said, unfazed. "I've been thinking of changing my name anyway. 'Johnny' sounds like a little boy, don't you think? And in case you haven't noticed," as he worked his hips against her, "I'm not a little boy anymore. So go on and call me Jack, and whether you mean him or me doesn't much matter."</p><p>Doris nodded uncertainly. Was this all even happening? How had the two fantasies that had tormented her for the past ten years somehow come to life and merged into one?</p><p>Johnny—Jack—brought her hands to the buttons of her shirt. As she numbly got herself out of her shirt and bra, he undid the button and zip on her jeans and worked them down over her age-broadened hips. He pushed her gently down to sit on the sofa, the old worn fabric soft-rough against her bare skin, and knelt on the floor in front of her to pull off her slippers, jeans, and underwear all together. Sun streamed in the uncurtained window, illuminating her nudity, and she felt suddenly worried that someone would come look in and see. But she'd hear them drive up, anyway—</p><p>All her thoughts fled as Joh—Jack put her legs over his shoulders and brought his mouth to her cunt.</p><p>She'd heard of this, dreamed of it, but she had no idea it would feel so <em>wet</em>. His tongue was slick and he worked it sloppily over her and into her, and she—she was wet too, shamefully wet for the one man she should never have spread her legs for. With gentle fingers, he drew her labia open, and as he settled his pursed lips over her clit, she bit her fist to muffle her cry.</p><p>"Oh, no," he said, drawing back, "I want to hear you. Play with your tits, Doris, just the way you like, and holler so loud they hear you over at Michaelson's."</p><p>The way she liked? She had no idea what she liked. Hesitantly, she brought her hands to her breasts, cupping them the way he had and rubbing her palms over her nipples. That felt good in a sort of quiet way, nothing special. He watched her clumsy movements, smiling with wet lips. "Play with your nipples," he suggested. "Rub them with your fingers the way I lick you." Then he lowered his head again.</p><p>He lapped slowly at her clit, sending shudders through her, and she ran her thumbs over her nipples just as slowly, matching his rhythm. When he sucked on her, she pinched gently, and that felt so good that she did it again, harder, and moaned out loud. He made a satisfied noise and began really working her with his tongue, sucking and lapping like Jack had used to make her suck his dick. </p><p>Shocks of pleasure drew more wetness from her until she thought she'd leave a puddle on the old sofa. She let go of conscious thought and let her body move, her hips pressing up toward his face, her fingers rubbing and pulling. It felt so good, she didn't—she couldn't—was this—</p><p>"Oh," she gasped, "oh, oh, oh <em>Jack</em>—"</p><p>He growled against her, a low rumble she felt in her bones, and she kicked her feet helplessly and grabbed at her breasts and felt unspeakable pleasure thundering through her like a herd of cattle that left her trampled and quivering in the dust.</p><p>She thought he'd stop, but he didn't let up even a little. It almost burned where he was licking her, and her nipples were starting to feel sore, but she kept going with her hands like he'd told her to, whipping her head from side to side as she tried to reach for that elusive peak again. "Please, please," she cried, "please, stop—or more—something—<em>please</em>—"</p><p>He drew back and she thrust up toward him, both relieved and bereft. "You want me to stop?" he said, wiping his sticky face on her inner thigh.</p><p>"No—maybe—I don't <em>know</em>!" She was near tears with frustration and the unfamiliarity of pleasure. Letting her true reactions show made her feel so weak and vulnerable.</p><p>"Then let's try something else," he said, and he gave her a sweet little smile and pushed two thick fingers up into her cunt.</p><p>She shrieked and arched back. It felt <em>good</em>, having something in her had never felt so good, and when he began to lap at her again, the combination of his fluttering tongue and his slowly thrusting fingers was electrifying. "Yes, Jack, Jack, <em>yes</em>!" she gasped over and over. When he teasingly slowed his pace, she dared to grab his head and pull it down, and he laughed against her and worked a third finger in. She flung her legs wide, making animal sounds that she hadn't known she had in her, and rode his hand and his mouth as her climax tore her apart and left her toppled over in a dazed, sticky heap.</p><p>Doris was dimly aware of J—of Jack moving her around, arranging her with her ass in the air and her forehead resting on the back of the sofa. The dusty old-cigarettes smell of the flowered fabric mingled with the reek of sex. She was so open, so wet and open, and she knew what was coming next and both welcomed and dreaded it. </p><p>She heard a belt buckle clinking, a zipper, a rustle, and then he gripped her hips and pushed his cock into her in one slow, smooth motion. It was so <em>easy</em> and a high soft noise escaped her throat as she pressed back against him. Suddenly sure that this was when the fantasy would end and he would take her roughly and painfully the way he—the way Jack used to, she began to make the seductive movements that had usually served well to speed things along. But he didn't thrust or grab her. He rocked against her, getting well seated inside her, and then leaned over and reached around, one hand grasping for her breast and the other sliding down to her clit.</p><p>"Oh, no, please," she mumbled into the sofa, but he didn't hear or didn't care. She shook as his skillful hands (so much more skilled than hers, and she felt oddly embarrassed to be bested by a man half her age) began to work her over, direct and unstoppable. Her clit was on fire. Her nipples ached, and even the gentle brushing of his fingertips was almost too much. But it felt good, damn him, and she started to hate the pleasure as much as she'd hated his brutishness. If all she was expected to feel was pain, she could endure it. This cracked her open in a way she couldn't bear.</p><p>Slowly, painstakingly, still while hardly moving inside her, he brought her closer and closer to the brink until she was panting and groaning as though she could birth her climax and evict it from her body.</p><p>Then Jack let go and pulled out, all at once, leaving her cunt clenching painfully on air. Before she could do more than whine in shock and need and fear, he spread her ass cheeks apart and nudged his slippery cock against her asshole.</p><p>"No!" Doris cried. "No, Jack, <em>Jack</em>, please, stop!"</p><p>"Nuh-uh," he gasped. With a hard push, he split her open. She screamed in pain and violation, scrabbling at the sofa, horrified that her own wetness was easing his way. "Ohhhh, yes, God, you're perfect," he said hoarsely. "Yes, fuck, gonna make you even tighter—"</p><p>Her begging crumbled into wordless weeping as he reached for her clit once more and relentlessly pushed her over the cliff of orgasm. Her whole body spasmed and she choked on her own sobs. Nothing about her climax was satisfying at all. It was something happening to her, a mockery of the thrills she'd felt only a few minutes before when his mouth was on her and she really thought her fantasies were coming true.</p><p>Jack drove into her again and again, giving her the penetration she'd shamefully craved, and in a wretched way she... didn't enjoy it, that wasn't the right word, but after so much teasing it was a relief to just be fucked hard and painfully, the way she was used to. She went limp and let it happen.</p><p>Or she tried to, but he grabbed her hair and snarled, "Wake up! Make it good for me, I know you know how."</p><p>She did. Blinking back tears, she began to rock against him, moaning softly as though she could possibly be liking it.</p><p>"Beg me for it," he gasped, spearing her. She grunted. "Go on!"</p><p>She dredged up the script. "P-please," she said. "Please, J-Jack, fuck me, fuck my tight ass, please—harder, I like it hard, please, give it to me, come inside me, fill me up—"</p><p>"Don't think you'll hurry me along," he told her. "I'll take at least as long for my pleasure as I did for yours."</p><p>She used every trick she knew, but he didn't come and didn't stop. Sometimes he slowed down and that was worse; any slickness had worn off, and his cock dragging slowly out and in against her abraded flesh only made her more aware of how much it hurt and how degraded she felt. Worst of all, she felt suckered. She should have known. She <em>had</em> known. Her dreams could only ever be dreams.</p><p>He made her keep begging and simulating desire until her voice was a shredded whisper and her whole body was shuddering with exhaustion and pain. At last he pushed in deep and halted. Her rectum tried futilely to expel his cock and he laughed a little. "Guess Dad didn't do this much," he said. "Don't know why. It feels fucking fantastic. But you know what would make it feel even better..."</p><p>He reached over to the end table. Doris lifted her head just enough to see him pick up a pear-shaped alabaster paperweight that her mother had given her when she was a girl. When she was little, she liked to run her hands over its smooth curves. There was still enough of that child in her to be horrified and deeply ashamed as Jack brought it between their bodies and began working it into her achingly vacant cunt.</p><p>Her voice was completely gone, which in an odd way freed her to say "No" as much as she wanted, and she said it over and over like a prayer. The tip of the pear went in easily enough, but the base was harder, especially with Jack's cock still deep in her ass. She shuddered as he finally forced the widest part into her, and her body swallowed it up.</p><p>It felt good. She couldn't bear that it felt good. But it was so hard and cool inside her, and she was so full, and after that empty, awful orgasm it was such a relief to be full. What had he done to her, to make her want these things?</p><p>Jack plucked Doris's limp hand off the back of the sofa and brought it down below her belly. "Your turn," he said. "Get yourself off." She shook her head tremulously, but he pressed her hand down on her overused clit, driving a spike of pain-pleasure through her. "Do it. I'm not coming until you do."</p><p>Slowly, her hand shaking, Doris began to rub at herself, trying to remember what he'd done to get her to come. It was so hard to find a place to touch or a way to touch it that felt more good than agonizing. Finally she figured out how to slide her fingers alongside her clit without quite brushing against it, and began to work up a hesitant rhythm.</p><p>"Just like that," Jack said, grabbing her hips.</p><p>When he began to fuck her again, she did manage to scream. The penetration was pure agony. The combined pressure of the pear in her cunt and Jack's cock in her ass made her feel swollen, about to burst. </p><p>"Fuck, oh, fuck, yeah," Jack grunted, driving into her. "That's it, come on my cock, do it, do it!"</p><p>She was crying with powerful shuddering sobs, crying so hard she almost couldn't breathe, but her hand kept moving. With grim desperation, she found the slender thread of pleasure and chased it, tugged on it, until she felt herself unravel. Her cunt clenched on the pear so hard that it must have left bruises inside her. Her back arched, then bowed. Behind her, Jack gasped "Fuck, <em>fuck</em>" and then she felt the throbbing pulse of him coming at last.</p><p>Her strength gave out and she collapsed against the sofa. Every part of her hurt. Even her eyes ached from crying. Jack rocked against her with little bursts of stinging pain that made her twitch and shudder. She closed her eyes and did her best to will her spirit out of her body. It didn't work.</p><p>Jack pulled out, and she felt his come trickling down her leg. The pear was a weighty ache, but pushing it out felt like too much work, so she let it alone for now. She'd find some way to deal with it later, after he left.</p><p>That was the one good thing about this Jack: he didn't live with her.</p><p>She heard him zip up his pants and buckle his belt. He ran a gentle hand over her ass. "Thanks, Mom," he said. "That was great."</p><p>Doris hadn't thought she had more tears in her, but there she was, crying again. The front door opened and closed; the truck rumbled down the road. Slowly she let herself sink down to lie on the sofa in the last rays of the afternoon sun. She hurt so much, everywhere, and most of all in her heart.</p><p>She wondered when he'd come back.</p>
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